


Nothing Left To Say

by missingnolovefic



Series: Eternity, Eventually [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M, Medium!Gavin, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, death!ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: Gavin knows ghosts, has known them all his life. The Vagabond isn't a ghost, no. He's something much, much older.





	Nothing Left To Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vagrant_Blvrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/gifts).



> For @vagrantblvrd! Thank you for your support <3
> 
> Based on [this idea.](http://funfahcts.tumblr.com/post/174768786491)

When the Vagabond first joins the crew, Gavin makes sure to stay far away from him. Always choosing a seat near the door, last in, first out of the meeting room. Claims jobs partnered with one of the others, or claiming solo work he may or may not have already finished. It doesn’t hurt to double check the results, and he has other things to do. Keeps an eye out on his crew when they’re out and about, keeps track of their enemies. Hunts down rumours about infighting and restless gangs, projects where territory wars are likely to break out and when.

The Vagabond is a great addition to their crew, a boost in manpower and reputation.

He gives Gavin the chills.

Gavin’s never been the superstitious sort - black cats are just cats, and crossing under ladders is plain stupid, what if something falls down or you accidentally run into it and the ladder collapses out from under the worker? Not that he’s talking from experience, of course -  but Vagabond… it’s not just the skull mask, there’s something unnatural about the way he moves. The way he looks at them sometimes, like he’s staring straight through them, or into their souls, or some such bollocks.

It doesn’t help that the ghosts avoid him like the plague.

See, Gavin’s not a strong medium. That honour belongs to his grandmother, who taught him all he knows about what is real versus superstition. If he focuses, Gavin can sometimes hear the ghosts whispering, barely able to make out a word. Mostly it’s glimpses from the corner of his eyes, the occasional chill or gut feeling when he walks by. They’re everywhere, and Gavin’s gotten used to their presence.

Not around Vagabond, though. The man is like a black hole, as if the chill he exudes encompasses that of the ghosts. Devours them, or maybe they just vanish to get away.

He could be a medium, except… the Vagabond is a well-known killer. He should be hunted by the ghosts of those he’s slain, unable to help them move on since he killed them himself. It’s why his paternal grandparents never got along with his maternal set, what with his nonno being an ex-mafioso. Killed his fair share, and the ghosts linger. They never bothered Gavin much, too used to their presence since he was young, but his grandmother couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

It’s why Gavin avoids the hands-on approach, makes sure they never see his face. Let’s others do the dirty work to put as much distance between himself and the dead.

Keeping his distance from Ryan doesn’t work, and it’s so stupid because his curiosity gets the best of him and-

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Vagabond stills, staring straight ahead. Then his head turns to look at Gavin, and a chill races down his spine. Feels like a hare before a snake and doesn’t dare move.

“Do you?”

The question throws Gavin. He half-expected the Vagabond to outright ignore him but... The way he says it, genuine interest and a curious tilt to his head, even as his eyes remain their steady, icy blue.

“I mean… why not?” Gavin is surprised with how calm he sounds, though his voice goes up an octave. “No one knows what happens after we die, right?”

The Vagabond doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at him. Gavin starts fidgeting, turning half away and pulling his laptop closer, trying to focus on the screen in front of him and not the eyes lingering on his back.

But… it’s the start of _something_. Gavin doesn’t know how to put it in words, the shift. One day he stays the fuck away from the Vagabond, the next day Ryan tags along on a job where he really doesn’t need a bodyguard, protests which Ryan blithely ignores - and yes, it’s Ryan now, at the man’s own insistence, and well, Gavin’s not stupid, is he. Done something to catch the infamous Vagabond’s attention and knows better than to piss him off.

Not that Michael agrees with his self-assessment at all.

“Will you stop pushing his buttons, Jesus fucking Christ.” Michael drops off a sandwich and tea from starbucks on his desk, before kicking off his shoes and plopping down on the little couch in Gavin’s office. “Do you have a goddamn deathwish or something?”

There’s a thousand things Gavin could say - how he’s not trying to push the boundaries, not really, except he kinda is. Wants to know what lines to toe, so he doesn’t end up with his throat slit in the middle of the night. But Ryan - Ryan thinks it’s bloody _funny_. Loves Gavin’s hypotheticals and stupid questions and will debate them with him ad nauseum, even if they keep talking past each other, both meaning the same thing, but the words not coming out right.

It makes something in Gavin’s chest flutter excitedly. No one’s ever indulged his questions, not like this. Not to this extent, without blowing him off or making him feel stupid.

“He doesn’t mind,” he says instead, a vague answer but it’s true because somehow Ryan really doesn’t.

“Christ,” Michael huffs, kicking the back of Gavin’s chair. “Just don’t push your luck, okay?”

They both know he will, though. It’s in Gavin’s nature to push. He doesn’t feel safe with someone until he knows exactly what makes them tick, and Ryan’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery. There’s a lot to unpack, and Gavin feels like he’s barely scratched the surface.

So he keeps pushing, metaphorically and literally. Pushes into Ryan’s space, into his privacy. Buys him an entire truckload of succulents when he finds out Ryan keeps one in his apartment. A prank, he laughs it off, but he’s secretly touched when Ryan starts distributing the plants across the entire penthouse despite Geoff’s yelling, and the pretty, flowering ones end up in Gavin’s little office. Three of them, the most anyone could cram into the small space, and it makes Gavin smile every time he catches sight of them. Doodles of little skulls and knives on the pottery, and Gavin adds ridiculous names to each.

“Really, Gavvers?” Geoff asks tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, and Gavin shrugs because. He doesn’t really know what’s going on anymore either, but like hell will he be the first to quit. Like a staring match that’s been going on for too long, and Gavin doesn’t dare to blink now.

“Don’t worry about it, Geoff,” Gavin assures him. Geoff picks up the golden gun from the gift box, Gavin’s full name engraved on the side of the barrel, and Gavin honestly can’t remember telling anyone in the crew his middle name. Geoff shoots him a skeptical look. “Really. A spot of competition, nothing more.”

“Well,” Geoff says, staring at the gun and shaking his head. He drops it back in the box and puts the lid back on, as if the saying _out of sight, out of mind_ were true. “Just don’t let it get out of hand.”

Too late, Gavin thinks but he bites his tongue and nods, smiling innocently. Geoff mutters under his breath, clearly not buying it.

There’s no more ghosts near the penthouse or any of their usual haunts. In fact, if Gavin were to give it some thought, he might realize the Fakes’ territory is suspiciously empty of them. He’s distracted, though, too used to ignoring their presence that he doesn’t notice their absence.

Instead, there’s other things to occupy his mind: the feeling of Ryan’s hands on his shoulders and arms as he corrects his aim, practicing with his new golden gun. The way he smiles when Gavin brings him a coffee to early morning meetings, the tired slump of his shoulders after a hard job. Falling asleep on the couch with his head in Ryan’s lap during movie night, the memory of fingers brushing through his hair.

The feel of his lips, and bloody hell, that comes as a surprise and a half.

“Ryan?” Gavin asks, eyes closed and lips parted in shock, heat crawling up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Ryan breathes, and Gavin blinks, opening his eyes to stare into endless blue. Ryan clenches his hand into a fist, punches the wall next to Gavin’s head, eyes never leaving his as he curses. “Fuck, shit, I- Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Gavin wants to laugh, relieved and a little annoyed, his heart beating too fast and his palms too sweaty, but it gets stuck in his throat. Grabs him by the lapels instead, pulls Ryan in who makes a surprised _oof_ sound, and that’d be funny too, Gavin will laugh about it later and tease him endlessly, but for now he’s too busy devouring Ryan’s mouth, sucking off his face as if his life depends on it.

“Don’t bloody apologize, you mong,” he mutters into the space between them, as they break apart, panting for breath.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, and then laughs, this dorky little thing, and Gavin drags him back in for another kiss because he doesn’t know what to do with this feeling spreading through his chest.

Dating Ryan is easy. Nothing really changes, except for the kissing, and the teasing when the crew finds out. They’ve been building up to this point for almost a year, and Gavin can’t believe how fast time flies. Such a slow, gradual shift towards _this_ , whatever _this_ will turn out to be. It feels natural to wake up in Ryan’s arms, to kiss him good luck when he goes out to kill people, to kiss him hello when he returns, skin warmer than usual and with Gavin’s caramel frappuccino with a shot of pumpkin and two of espresso.

It’s not that he stops noticing the little things off about his boyfriend (his _boyfriend_ ), it’s just… not as urgent to figure out.

Gavin trusts Ryan with his life.

Which… may be a good thing in hindsight.

“Wake up,” Ryan’s voice commands, harsh and insistent. Gavin’s eyelids flutter but-

_I can’t._

“Yes, you fucking can.” Ryan sounds angry, and it stings in his chest. “No, that’s the bullet wound. You need to learn to dodge.”

 _Or wear an armoured vest next time_ , Gavin thinks hysterically because… there is no next time. This is it.

“Oh, there’s not gonna be a next time if I can help it,” Ryan swears, and then there’s hands on his face and familiar lips on his own and air pushing into his lungs-

Gavin gasps, bolting upright and coughing up blood. Sits on the concrete, in a puddle of his own blood, and remembers _dying_ , his last thoughts full of regret for missing his date with Ryan. For leaving him behind, for not having more time together, and-

“I died,” Gavin rasps, stares down at his chest, covered in blood.

“Yes,” Ryan returns shortly. He sounds annoyed, but in a _I was worried, you asshole_ way. Ryan’s hand rests over his heart, right where the bullet hit. His shirt is ruined, but Ryan’s skin is pristine, devoid of blood. The sniper hit him straight through the heart and there’s no way to survive something like _that_.

No explanation for why he’s alive, and when Ryan helps him up there’s no wound in his chest, not even a scar. Gavin looks up and catches Ryan’s eyes, a lighter blue than usual, an eerie glow about them. Feels the chill he associates with ghosts, with his boyfriend, colder than he’s ever felt. Gavin shivers, wrapping his arms around himself as he stares at Ryan with wide eyes.

“Ryan?”

Ryan closes his eyes, and dark wings unfurl from his back, his jacket turning into a cloak that covers him from head to toe. The painted skull on his face looks more realistic than ever, and his eyes are burning blue flames. A scythe lies on the street next to them, and Ryan picks it up as he rises.

“It’s not your time yet,” he says, and his voice echoes.

“It is though, innit,” Gavin mumbles, heart in his throat. He reaches out, tries catching Ryan by the sleeve. “Ryan-”

The cloth glides through his fingers as wisps of smoke, and Ryan shakes his head.

“I’ll be back.”

He turns on his heel and walks down the alley, fading from Gavin’s sight. Gavin scrambles up, runs to the spot where Ryan vanished-

There’s nothing there but a bone-deep chill.


End file.
